"Don't go so far next time when you want to pick flowers in the evening," said Overton, as 'Tana came nearer to him. "You make me realize that I have nerves. If you had not come in sight the instant you did, I should have been after you." "But nothing will harm us; I am not afraid, and it is pretty in the woods now," she answered lamely, and toyed with the flowers. But the touch of her fingers was nervous, and the same quality trembled in her voice. He noticed it and reaching out took her hand in his very gently, and yet with decision that forced her to look up at him. "Little girl--what is it? You are sick?" She shook her head. "No, I am not--I am not sick," and she tried to free her hand, but could not. "'Tana," and his teeth closed for a moment on his lip lest he say all the warm words that leaped up from his heart at sight of her face, which looked startled and pale in the moonlight--"'Tana, you won't need me very long; and when you go away, I'll never try to make you remember me. Do you understand, little girl? But just now, while we are so far off from the rest of the world, won't you trust me with your troubles--with the thoughts that worry you? I would give half of my life to help you. Half of it! Ah, good God! all of it! 'Tana--" In his voice was all the feeling which compels sympathy, or else builds up a wall that bars it out. But in the eyes of the girl, startled though she was, no resistance could be read. Her hand was in his, her face lifted to him, and alight with sudden gladness. In his eyes she read the force of an irresistible power taking possession of a man's soul and touching her with its glory. "'Tana!" he said very softly, in a tone she had never before heard Dan Overton use--a tone hushed and reverent and appealing. "_'Tana!_" Did he guess all the stormy emotions locked alone in the girl's heart, and wearing out her strength? Did he guess all the childish longing to feel strong, loving arms around her as a shield? His utterance of her name drew her to him. His arm fell around her shoulders, and her head was bowed against his breast. The hat she wore had fallen to the ground, and as he bent over her, his hand caressed her hair tenderly, but there was more of moody regret than of joy in his face. "'Tana, my girl! poor little girl!" he said softly. But she shook her head. "No--not so poor now," she half whispered and looked up at him--"not so very poor." Then she uttered a half-strangled scream of terror and broke away from him; for across his shoulder she saw a face peering at her from the shadows of the over-hanging bushes above them, a white, desperate face, at sight of which she staggered back and would have fallen had Overton not caught her. He had not seen the cause of her alarm, and for one instant thought it was himself from whom she shrank. "Tell me--what is it?" he demanded. "'Tana, speak to me!"